


Evading Capture

by thusspakekate



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Consent Issues, Consent Play, Dubious Consent, F/M, Rough Sex, Throat Fucking, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-30
Updated: 2012-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-30 09:04:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/330072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thusspakekate/pseuds/thusspakekate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Auror Potter has spent the last four years of chasing seasoned criminal Pansy Parkinson. His obsession with her has nearly ruined his life and career. But when he finally catches up with her, she's not going to come willingly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Evading Capture

The locking charms were easy to break. That should have been Harry's first clue. He slid the door open slowly, cringing as the hinge squeaked loudly. He entered, wand first. Harry poked his head around the door next, prepared to defend himself against any curse shot his way. When none came, he pushed the rest of the way through the door.   
  
The hotel room was empty. The bed was made, the bins emptied. Not even the ashtray betrayed any sign that she'd been there. French doors leading out to a small balcony were opened wide, letting the cool Spanish breeze fill the room. The wind picked up, making the fresh linen curtains around the door flutter. The soft scent of lavender and gardenias filled Harry's nose. He hadn't been in the same room with her since that horrible night, but he knew her perfume instantly. She had been here recently.   
  
Harry noticed something hanging off the back of the small wooden chair tucked neatly into a desk in the corner. A single silk stocking, translucent black with a seam running down the back. Harry ran it through his fingers, shivering slightly when the smooth material caught on the rough skin of his calloused fingertips. He shoved it into his pocket; it wouldn't make it into official list of evidence. Her lingerie never did.   
  
There was a card on the table, simply addressed “Auror Potter” in large, swirling script. He opened it and read.   
  


  _Potter,_

_You're getting quicker. I'm almost impressed. Sorry I couldn't stay and meet you, urgent business in the East._

_Sometimes I wonder which of us is more eager for you to catch me._

_Until next time._

  
The note was signed with a bright, lipstick-red kiss. Harry folded it and shoved it into his pocket next to the stocking. Another piece of evidence that would never be handed in.   
  
Harry cast his patronus. A brilliant silver stag emerged from his wand, the spectral image blinking at him as it waited for his instructions.   
  
“Go to Head Auror Dawlish. Tell him I'm coming back to London. Parkinson's gone.”

  


xxx xxx xxx

  
Harry sat on the floor of his rundown, efficiency flat. The overhead light flickered, casting harsh shadows on the barren walls. He kept meaning to get that fixed. He kept meaning to get a lot of things fixed.   
  
He pulled a metal box from under his bed, tapping a gentle rhythm on the lid with the tip of his wand. The box glowed for a moment, then returned to steely gray. Harry opened the lid and pulled out the contents, arranging each item neatly in a line. The same order ever time, the order in which he'd received them. He placed the stocking and note she left for him that day at the end of the row.   
  
All together he had six bras, four complete sets of stockings, two garter belts, one negligee, nine lacy knickers, and a single leather stiletto. There were twenty seven corresponding notes, one for each time he had come close but failed to capture her. He'd found all but one of them in empty hotel rooms and rented villas. One pair of black knickers—his favorite of the collection—had been sent directly to his flat by owl the night of his twenty-eighth birthday. The crotch was still wet and musky when they'd arrived.   
  
This small collection of ladies' intimates was all he had to show for the past four years of his life.   
  
When Parkinson's case file first slid across his desk four years ago, he was on the fast track to Head Auror. He was engaged to the love of his life and played darts every Thursday down at the Leaky with the lads from his department. Now he was single and alone, the joke of the department. He snapped at anyone who suggested the case be reassigned to someone with more distance, more objectivity.   
  
These days he never played darts and always drank alone.   
  
Harry picked up his favorite black pair of knickers and ran them through his fingers, hardening immediately. When he placed them back in their place fifteen minutes later, they were sticky and wet with his cum.

  


xxx xxx xxx

The locking charms were easy to break. That should have been Harry's first clue. He slid the door open slowly, breathing a sigh of relief when the hinge didn't creak. He entered, wand first. Harry poked his head around the door next, prepared to defend himself against any curse shot his way. When none came, he pushed the rest of the way through the door.

Harry stood frozen in the entrance. He'd fully expected today to be like the twenty-six other days when weeks of careful planning were instantaneously dashed by the sight of an empty room. He never actually expected for her to be here.

“Auror Potter,” Pansy said coolly, taking a drag from the long white cigarette between her fingers. “I was beginning to wonder if you'd show.”

His reaction may have been delayed, but Harry had spent four years of his life waiting for this moment. In a flash, his wand was out and trained at her heart. He didn't have authorization to use any Unforgiveables, but she didn't know that.

“Drop your wand and put your hands where I can see them,” Harry barked.

Pansy gave a beatific smile as she raised her hands. “My wand's on the table,” she nodded to the dressing table at the far end of the room and smirked.

Harry nodded and crossed the room, never taking his eyes from her as he retrieved her wand and shoved it into the pocket of his trousers. Pansy was artfully posed on the settee, wearing a dangerously low cut black negligee that barely dusted the tops of her pale thighs. If she moved even an inch, the fabric would ride up and expose her to him. Harry tried not to think about the color of her knickers—or if she was even wearing any at all.

“I suppose this is the part where I ask how you caught me,” Pansy said, shifting slightly so that the slip rode up, revealing a dark patch of lace between her thighs. Black then. Just like Harry's favorite pair. “But you didn't catch me, Potter. I waited for you.”

Harry forced his eyes back to her face, coloring slightly at the realization she'd caught him staring between her legs. He strengthened the grip on his wand and tried to focus. He'd imagined this moment so many times, but usually his mind wandered to places that were not in accordance with Ministry standards and procedures for capturing dangerous criminals. Nothing he'd ever imagined would do now that they were actually here.

“Better get used to it Parkinson,” Harry said, trying to find what remained of the quality auror he use to be. “You'll have a lot of time to wait. You're looking at a minimum of thirty years in Azkaban.”

Pansy laughed. It was a short, toying laugh. She stubbed her cigarette into the crystal ashtray on the bedside table and stood. She walked towards Harry slowly, slinking like a cat on the prowl. Instinctively, Harry took a step backwards.

“I have no intention of going to Azkaban, Auror Potter,” Pansy smiled slyly when Harry's back hit the wall behind him. “And I don't think you have any intention of sending me there either,” she whispered as she pressed her body against his.

Harry stilled. He closed his eyes and swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. He tried not to think about the softness of her breasts pushing against his chest. He tried to bite back the familiar longing that was settling deep inside of him.

“Back off Parkinson,” he said crossly when he finally found his voice again. “Or I'll add assaulting an auror to your list of charges.”

“Assaulting? Is that what you think I'm doing?” She asked in mock surprise as her hand snaked between their bodies and came to rest on the growing bulge in his trousers. “I'm not assaulting you, Potter,” she breathed into his ear. “I'm seducing you.”

The sensation that shot through his body when her delicate hands squeezed him had the opposite effect of what Pansy had anticipated. The shock of it cleared Harry's mind momentarily. He remembered who he was and why he was here.

“Incarcerous!” he shouted, jabbing his wand into her side.

The force of the spell cast at such close proximity caused Pansy to stumble back a few feet. Unable to catch her balance, she teetered for a few seconds on the impossibly high heels she wore and fell, face first onto the bed. Thin ropes bound her hands behind her back. The hem of her slip rode up as she struggled against the restraint, revealing the fleshy bottom of her pale, round arse.

Pansy twisted her body to look at him, defiance shining brightly in her dark eyes. “This is how you want it then, Potter?” She sneered. “Want to take me tied up and helpless? Crying for you to stop? I can do that, you know.”

“Shut it, Parkinson,” Harry murmured. He needed her to stop talking before her words hit too close to the truth—too close to the things he imagined when he closed his eyes and used her dirty knickers to wank himself.

Realizing she'd hit a nerve, Pansy grinned maliciously.“Harry Potter, darling of Wizarding Britain. What would people think if they knew what you really were—what you really wanted?” she laughed acidly. “Does that darling ginger slut of yours know? Does she let you tie her up? Do you fuck her so hard she has to use glamours to hide the bruising? Does she cry and scream and beg for you stop?”

“Shut it, Parkinson,” Harry repeated again in a low voice, edged with the blossoms of anger. “Don't bring her into this.”

He wasn't going to mention that Ginny had left him for good this time.

Pansy's short laugh was bitter and mocking, far too confidant for a woman whose hands were tied behind her back and whose skirt was flipped up over her arse. “She doesn't even know, does she? What do you think she'd do if she knew that her darling Harry was such a pervert?”

Harry could feel his heart pounding angrily in his chest. “I told you to shut it,” he growled. His fists clenched and unclenched as he tried to keep his composure.

“Or what, Potter?” Pansy smirked at him over her shoulder. “You wouldn't actually do anything, would you? For the same reason you've never told Weasley what you really want—you're too chickenshit. You're scared and ashamed and utterly pathetic. I know you keep my knickers,” she added triumphantly, her eyes sparkling gleefully. “Did you know I charmed them? Every time you wank with them I know—I can feel it.”

Harry felt his blood run cold. “You're lying,” he murmured, trying to push down the cold rage and shame that was burning inside him.

“You think so, Potter?” Pansy grinned, her small teeth bared. “Every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday night, plus whenever I leave a new present for you. It's sad, you and your little routine. The ginger bint finally left you then, did she? I thought as much. The worst was Christmas though, I almost felt pity for you then. Were you all alone on Christmas, Potter? Alone in some dingy flat, wanking yourself off with the knickers of a woman who wouldn't condescend to touch you.”

“You're lying!” Harry snapped as he rushed forward and grabbed a fistful of Pansy's dark hair, roughly yanking her head backwards. He didn't know what he was accusing her of lying about. In truth, everything she'd said had been spot on. But he had to deny it, he had to at least attempt to save whatever scraps of dignity he had left.“You're a fucking liar, Parkinson. You don't know anything about me.”

“That's it Potter,” Pansy grinned. Her eyes fluttered closed as his harsh tugging forced her to arch her back and expose her neck. “There's the man I've been waiting to see,” she moaned. She shifted slightly, pushing her arse into the air temptingly.

She was playing with him. Harry knew it, but didn't care. If Parkinson wanted to play, she'd soon learn to respect her opponent.

Harry strengthened his grip on her hair, pulling her back even further. He bent over so that his lips hovered an inch above the soft shell of Pansy's ear. “Maybe you're right Parkinson,” he began darkly, his free hand dropping to slide over the smooth curve of her upturned arse. “Maybe I am a pervert. But I'm not the only one.”

Pansy chuckled, dark and low. Harry hated how erotic it sounded to him. “Of course you're not, Potter. Did you really think—”

Harry didn't hear the rest of her sentence. He pushed Pansy's head down, forcing her face into the soft mattress. She let out a distressed cry, attempting to push up against him, but in this position Harry was undoubtedly stronger. She squirmed, her legs kicked futilely out behind her, making her round bum wiggle invitingly. Harry watched for a moment, pleased by the sight and her desperate little grunts of effort. He pushed down harder, forcing her face so deeply into the mattress that he knew she'd have trouble breathing. Her struggling redoubled.

Harry pulled back his free hand and brought it down quickly. The harsh spank landed on her arse with a loud -crack!-

“Stay still,” Harry grunted through his teeth.

Quickly, Pansy obeyed. She stilled immediately, her only movement was the gentle heaving of her chest as she tried to breathe through the mattress. Harry loosened his grip slightly, not wanting her to lose consciousness. It wouldn't do if she passed out, not yet at least. There was no rush, he realized with a wry smile. No one back at the Ministry really believed this would be the time he brought Parkinson in. It would be hours, if not well into the next day, before anyone would bother to contact him for a status report.

Harry's hand began to roam across her arse again, playing with the lace fabric that framed her pale cheeks. He could feel her body tense the closer his hand drew to the hollow between her legs.

“What about you, Parkinson?” he asked in a thick voice. He slipped his hand between her legs and ran two fingers down the length of her lace-covered cunt. The fabric was already damp. “Is this what you want as well? Is that why you waited for me?” His fingers dipped beneath the edge of the fabric and into her folds, parting them easily. Pansy said nothing, but let a small, whimpering sound escape her lips. “Do you want someone to tie you up and use you like the useless whore you are?” Harry continued, using every ounce of self-control he had to keep his voice steady. “That's what you are, Parkinson, what you've always been. Even back at school—you should have heard the way the blokes talked about you after Quidditch practice. You were nothing to them but a warm cunt to come inside, just another worthless hole to fill.”

Pansy whimpered again and the sound shot straight through Harry to his cock. His fingers trailed circles around her opening, picking up moisture. He wanted to slip them inside, to feel the warmth of her around his hand. Pansy mewled and pushed back against him, trying force his fingers inside. Harry was quicker though, moving his hand away to find her clit and giving it a sharp pinch. Pansy cried out in surprise.

“Such a greedy little slut,” Harry mused as he began to circle her clit, gently this time. “You get off on it just as much as I do. You want someone to ignore you cries for mercy, to make you beg for it to stop and then laugh in your face, don't you?” Harry tightened his hold in her hair and pulled her head back. “You want someone to take what they want from you, leaving you a broken, cum-stained mess.” He could see the tears forming in her eyes, although he didn't know if they were from his words or the fact that if he pulled her hair any tighter he'd tear it out by the root. “Don't you, Parkinson?” he asked again, his voice clear that he expected an answer this time.

Pansy seemed to be fighting an internal war with herself. Her mouth opened to respond, but then closed again as if on second thought. Her eyebrows knitted together in frustration, but her bottom lip jutted out in defiance.

“Answer me!” Harry demanded with sharp tug and another cruel pinch to her clit.

“Yes!” Pansy cried out in shock, the tears in her eyes beginning to slip down her face. “Fine, Potter, is that what you want to hear? Yes, Merlin, please! Just do it already.”

“Say it,” Harry commanded as his fingers returned to rubbing soothing circles around her clit. “Tell me what you want Parkinson, I want to hear you say it.”

“I want you to fuck me,” Pansy gushed, trying in vain to rut against his hand. She could barely move at all, his grip was so tight. “I want you to use me like the worthless whore I am. I want you to hurt me, to make me cry. Make me bleed for you, Potter, anything, please.”

Harry released his grip on her hair, shoving her away in disgust. Pansy flopped forward gracelessly, bouncing on the mattress slightly as she landed. She twisted her body, trying to look at him. Harry had stepped back a few paces, his face set in a hard glare.

“What the fuck are you doing, Potter?” She yelled angrily, frustration evident in her voice. “If you don't get over here and fuck me this instant!”

“No,” Harry said firmly, despite the fact he was idly rubbing himself through his tented trousers. “I don't think I will. You want it too much. Why should I give you anything you want? If I fuck you, you win. You're a whore and a criminal, Parkinson. And I don't fuck either,” he added spitefully. “I'm not going to fuck you. Instead, I'm going to send you to Azkaban. I'm sure you'll have no trouble finding men there willing to treat you like the worthless piece of arse you are.”

Harry saw the fear flash in Pansy's eyes. Real, unadulterated fear. It sent a shiver down his spine.

They stared at each other for a long moment.

“Please, Potter,” Pansy said softly, her large brown eyes wide.“Don't send me there, I know what happens to women like me there.” Tears began to pool in her eyes—real, earnest tears. “I'll disappear, I promise. You'll never hear from me again. Just please, don't send me there.”

“But its where you belong,” Harry tutted mockingly as though he were talking to a small child. He smiled when her red-rimmed eyes met his. He didn't know where this cruel streak had come from, but it felt like such a simple and natural role to step into, like putting on a coat. He could see her searching for some hint, some sign that he would relent, that this was just a part of the game and he wouldn't actually send her there. The look of utter desperation and hopelessness on her once smug face thrilled him.

Harry walked back towards the bed slowly. Grabbing Pansy by the hips, he turned her over bodily. Her hands were trapped between her back and the bed, forcing her hips up at an uncomfortable angle. He could see her try to put on a defiant mask, but it crumbled quickly.

“Please, Harry,” Pansy whispered, her voice breaking. “I'll do anything. Just don't...don't send me there. Have mercy on me Potter, please.”

Harry ignored her, although he inwardly smirked at the pitiful sound of his given name on her lips. He trailed his hands up the length of her thighs, pushing the thin, silky material of her negligee up and out of his way. He slipped his fingers under the waistband of her knickers, pulling the flimsy material off her hips and down to her knees in one swift stroke.

“On second thought,” Harry mused as pushed his fingers between her folds, “I think I will fuck you. But make no mistake, I'm sending you to Azkaban after.” Harry found her entrance and thrust two of his fingers in harshly and without warning. Pansy keened, lifting her hips to better the angle and alleviate the shock and pain of such a rude breaching.

“No, Potter, you can't,” Pansy whimpered. “Not like this.”

Harry pushed inside as far as he could, the knuckles of his free fingers pressing harshly into the soft flesh of her cunt. He stroked the spongy tissue inside of her, trying to imagine how it would feel wrapped around his cock—which was throbbing, angry and ignored. There would be time for that yet, he reminded himself—she was barely crying at this point. He wanted to take her while her body was was wracked with sobs, her face bright red, snot dripping shamelessly from her nose.

Harry pulled his fingers out, marveling at the way they shone, sticky and wet. “Yes,” he said quietly. “Exactly like this.” He reached up and painted Pansy's lips with her own wetness. Harry forced his fingers inside her mouth. Instinctively she wrapped her lips around them and began to suck his fingers clean.

“This is going to be your last fuck as a free woman, Parkinson. But don't worry, I'm sure the men in Azkaban will find plenty of uses for you,” Harry said coldly. “Malfoy's there, did you know? Won't that be a happy little reunion for you? Do you think he'll try to protect you, keep you safe from his father's friends?” Harry pulled his fingers free. Despite the fear in her eyes, Pansy's bottom lip still jut out defiantly. Not even bothering to question the impulse, Harry slapped her.

Pansy's eyes were wide with shock. Her mouth fell open in surprise but no sound came out. Harry fumbled with the fastenings of his trousers, eager to free his swollen prick from its confines. Pansy should have known better than to lay there, mouth open and pursed into a perfect little 'o' shape. Cock in hand, he pushed her down and straddled her chest. Realizing what about to happen, Pansy snapped her mouth shut and shook her head vehemently.

Harry grabbed her face, pushing her the hinge of her jaw so harshly that her jaw fell open just to stop the pain. “No, Potter,” she begged, her voice muffled by his large hands. “Please, stop it!” she cried.

Harry ignored her, leaning forward and bracing himself on one hand. He trailed the leaking head of his fat, swollen cock around her lips. Tears escaped as Pansy shut her eyes tight and stopped struggling in acquiescence. With one brutal thrust of his hips, the length of Harry's cock was inside the wet cavern of her mouth. The angle was awkward, but Harry didn't care. He didn't care that Pansy was thrashing beneath him, sobbing and gagging and choking on the length of him as his hips pumped furiously. All he cared about was pushing in further, wanting to feel the strong muscles of her throat around his cock.

“He wont, you know,” Harry continued as he fucked Pansy's mouth. His words came out staccato, punctuated be the shallow thrust of his hips.“Malfoy—he won't protect you. He'll pimp you out to all his little Death Eater friends, just like he did in school. You were his worthless Slytherin whore then and soon you'll be his little whore again”

Harry chanced a peak down and could see Pansy's red face below him. Tears were flowing freely now, her swollen lips wrapped tightly around his girth. With every downwards thrust, Pansy gagged and Harry wondered if she could vomit at this angle. Then he noticed it. Through the small gap between his open legs, he could see his cock moving inside her throat. It was the most glorious and erotic thing he'd ever seen. The tight cord of arousal behind his bellybutton threatened to snap, he could feel his balls tightening against his body as he watched his cock push further and further down her delicate swan-like neck.

With a roar, Harry grabbed himself by the base of his cock and pulled out. He wasn't ready to come, not like this, not yet. Not until he'd fucked her properly. Pansy sputtered, desperately gasping for air. Harry climbed off of the bed and took a step back, slowly fisting himself as he admired his work. He noted with pleasure the wild, frantic expression in her eyes and the way her lips puffed from the abuse. Her negligee had ridden up further to expose the soft curve of her belly. She had stopped crying when he'd let her go, but her bottom lip still quivered. Their eyes locked and they stared at each other a few moments. Harry didn't move until he saw another, single tear slide from her eye and follow the tracks the others had left.

Grabbing her by the hips again, Harry rolled Pansy over again unceremoniously. He pulled her back towards him so that her legs were hanging off the edge of the bed. He accio'd the pillows from the head of the bed and shoved them underneath her hips. Her arse was high in the air and inviting, those damned black knickers still trapped at her knees. Without any delicacy, he yanked her them down and off her legs completely. Stepping between her legs, he used his fingers to peel apart the lips of her cunt.

“You're still wet,” Harry stated flatly as he slipped his fingers inside of her. Her cunt was warm around him. He could feel her walls pulsing under his touch, trying to pull him in further. “Fuck, Parkinson, you really are a little whore, aren't you?” he chuckled darkly. He crooked his fingers and stroked her from the inside, searching for the spongy circle of tissue on her front wall. Pansy whined and keened, trying desperately to slip out of his grip.

He pulled his fingers out and wiped the wetness off on his cock. “I'm going to fuck you now,” he said matter-of-factly. “No objections, I assume?” he asked, knowing that even if there were, they wouldn't stop him.

“Please, Potter,” Pansy begged, her voice breaking and scratchy. Harry could tell it was hurting her to speak. He liked that thought. “I don't care what you do, just please, don't send me to Azkaban. I can't go there,” she began to cry again, her shoulders heaving. “Fuck me, use me, kill me, Whatever you want, I don't care. Just don't send me there.”

Harry lined his cockhead up at her entrance. He canted his hips forward an inch, barely breaching her. It was already so good, he knew he wouldn't be able to last. Especially not if she kept up that pathetic whimpering the whole time. “I'm going to fuck you,” he said again. “And then I'm going to send you to Azkaban.”

With one swift thrust, Harry was seated, balls deep inside of her. Pansy let out a loud cry, somewhere between a scream and sob. “Please Potter,” Pansy continued crying as he began to move inside of her, his thick cock stretching her open. “Anything but that. Please, please, I beg you.”

Harry's fingers dug into the soft flesh of Pansy's hips as he tried to fight of his orgasm. Her cunt was so warm, so wet, so bloody tight around him. Her body was shaking as she cried and he could feel the vibrations of it deep within her. Eventually, her sobs died down to whimpers and Harry felt it safe to move again. He began thrusting shallowly, experimentally. He reached his hand around and found Pansy's clit, rubbing it in time with his thrusts.

“You like this, don't you slut?” Harry asked through bared teeth as the pace of his thrusts increased.

“No!” Pansy cried, although she was beginning to move against him, angling her hips as much as she could and grinding herself against his hand.

“You better fucking like this, Parkinson. It's the last time you're going to get something so good for a very long time. You think the blokes in Azakaban are going to care if you come? You think they're going to bother?”

Pansy cries were slowly turning to moans as she pushed back to meet him, wordlessly urging Harry to fuck her harder. “No!” she cried again. “I'm not going to Azkaban! You can't! You wouldn't send me there!”

Harry wanted to let go, to pound into her mercilessly, to take his pleasure from her and release himself deep within her cunt. His fingers worked her clit mercilessly, rubbing hard, small circles on the distended nub. “Come for me, Parkinson,” he demanded loudly, barely able to hear himself over the incessantly slap of skin on skin as he fucked. “Come for me, come all over my hand, all over my cock. Come for me like the practiced whore you are.”

He gave Pansy's clit a sharp tug and she screamed. Harry felt her body go rigid as the walls of her cunt pulsed around him, trying to pull his cock deeper and deeper into her body. And then she was falling, what little ability to hold herself up she had in that position was gone and she was sinking into the bed.

Harry wrapped his arm around her waist and hoisted her back into position. Holding her against him, he let himself go. Every inhibition, every doubt, every self-loathing thought that kept him awake at night disappeared and all that mattered in the world was the feeling of his cock driving deep inside Pansy's abused cunt. It was loud and sweaty and brutal and within minutes, Harry was beyond control. Without warning, his orgasm tore through him savagely. Harry could feel the hot spurts of his cum ripping from his body, knew they were staining the interior walls of Parkinson's perfect pureblood cunt.

And then Harry collapsed. Spent and exhausted, he had no more energy let to hold himself and Pansy up. They landed on the bed with a thud. Pansy squirmed beneath him, twisting her body as much as she could to glare at his spent form over her shoulder.

“Do you mind, Potter?” she spat angrily.

Still in a daze, Harry rolled over. “Sorry,” he mumbled thoughtlessly. He brought his arm above his head to shield his eyes from the light. He felt so good, so at peace, and yet so tired. He knew he needed to get up and get Parkinson back to the Ministry for processing, but she was tied up and wasn't going anywhere. He deserved a few minutes to rest and collect himself. He had to come up with a counter-story in case Pansy decided to tell anyone about what had just happened. Or maybe he should just obliviate her now and not worry about it.

Harry felt a dip in the bed but paid no mind to it. Parkinson was likely trying to work her way free from her bonds, but she never would. Harry knew he cast an excellent incarcerous. It wasn't until he felt the warm pulsing of magic travel up his body that he realized something was amiss.

But by then it was too late.

Harry tried to move, tried to cry out, but he couldn't move a single muscle in his body. He looked around frantically and saw Parkinson, standing a few feet away, arms crossed and smirking.

“Wandless magic,” she said with a sly smile. “I wonder what it will take for people to stop underestimating me,” she mused as she walked towards the dressing table and peered into the mirror. Her makeup was horribly smudged, tracks of black kohl stained her face. Her hair was sticking up at odd angles in some sections, smashed flat against her head in others. She tapped her finger against her face. A pale light encircled her head and then disappeared. She looked as flawlessly put together as she had before Harry had arrived.

Harry watched from his full body-bind curse as she walked towards the wardrobe, wobbling slightly on her heels. He could see fingerprint shaped bruises around her throat. He wondered why she hadn't magicked those away too.

“You didn't catch me, Potter. I told you, I was waiting for you,” she continued as she pulled a long black dress from the wardrobe. She turned her back to him modestly as she let the negligee fall from her body, pooling at her feet. She stepped into the dress and turned around, stalking towards the bed. She must have noticed something on the ground, because she stopped and bent over. Harry couldn't see what it was, but he knew she was hiding it in the palm of her hands.

Pansy crawled onto the bed. He tried to fight through the curse. He imagined himself screaming and kicking and grabbing her by her thin white arms, but he just lay there lifelessly as she straddled his petrified body. She bent down and pressed a soft, dry kiss to his frozen and parted lips.

“I told you I have no intention of going to Azkaban,” she purred into her ear. “Here,” she said, holding up her hand to reveal the hidden object. Her knickers. Harry could smell her on them. “These are for you,” she smiled as she parted Harry's lips and pushed the thin scrap of fabric inside his mouth. Her hand snaked between their bodies until she found her wand in the pocket of Harry's trousers. He'd never even gotten them all the way off, he realized belatedly.

Pansy rolled off the bed and began to gather her things from the room. Harry's eyes followed her every movement. She fastened her traveling cloak around her neck and wrapped her fingers around her wand. “It was nice to see you again, Potter. Sorry to run off so quickly, but I'm really not the kind of girl to stay and cuddle. Thanks for the fuck though,” she winked. “I'll be spending the summer in Prague if you want to come and catch me again.”

With the familiar crack of disapparition, she was gone. Harry sighed internally. He knew there was nothing to do but wait for the curse to wear off. Then he'd contact the Ministry and tell them that Parkinson had evaded capture. Again.


End file.
